Playground: Nexus
by Codename Deus
Summary: The Prototype's life has finally settled down. With a wife and child, he has a high paying job and a beachside home. Nothing could be better. Meanwhile, Murcielago, the city's fabled superhero, is struggling to keep to his no kill rule, as increasingly volatile criminals push him to the limits. However, they would not be ready for the brute force of Deus' old enemies; Blackwatch.
1. Voices in Dreams & The Weekend (Part 1)

**Playground: Nexus**

(Advanced Warning: There will be numerous scenes featuring intense violence, blood and gore as well as horror. Also expect frequent use of bad language including the f word and infrequent use of the c word. I also do not condone racism or discrimination of any kind and any that is used in this story is to convey the personality of particular characters and as a plot point. If none of these issues concern you in any way, read on and enjoy –Codename Deus-)

**Voices in Dreams**

"You were such a fucking cry-baby, motherfucker that we shoved a syringe right up your asshole to shut you up...!"

"_Sugarbutt what's wrong? Are you having a bad dream again?"_

"You are such a pussy, Mercer. A fucking pushover. Get some fucking balls before I see your face again..."

"_Sweetcheeks you're making Alessa cry. Please...wake up...!"_

"Oh, Patrick...that's cute. Such a quiet little bitch. Quiet motherfuckers don't get to rule the roost. I'm assuming leadership of the Blacklight project...no questions asked."

"_Sweetness come on. You need to stop drinking so much. It's screwing with your mind..."_

"...and here is a once big-shot scientist of ours. He was formerly known as Patrick Mercer. Now, he's an infected, albeit a particularly special one. As a specimen, his only friend is his reinforced cell. The guy fucking stinks, but he's so very valuable..."

"_Patrick stop rolling around...it's just a dream..."_

"Do not refer to fucking Project DEUS as a fucking 'he'. Deus is a fucking 'it'!"

"_Deus you're scaring your beloved daughter. Wake up!"_

"Project DEUS left many of us mutilated...deceased. It butchered many good people on the day it escaped. We at Blackwatch will not give up the fight to contain or kill this motherfucker. We will bring justice to the good people of Saffron City. We will capture this terrorist and we will make the streets safe again for all of you!"

"_Patrick please listen to me. I love you...Alessa loves you. Please stop squirming. It's just a bad dream..."_

"Why can't we just kill this prick? It's proven it's an extreme danger to society. Lives aren't worth fucking wasting just to capture and return its stinking ass back to fucking GENTEK..."

"All these voices inside my head. I don't know which one is fucking real!"

**The Weekend (Part 1)**

"Sweetcheeks come on...it was just a dream..." A reassuring voice resonated in his ear. His ice blue eyes looked to his right. The blur in his vision began to clear at last. A warm face with mismatched coloured eyes looked back at him. A smile permeated her face. He looked into her eyes, the left one red and the right one green. They had a look of warmth just for him as they so often did. He smiled softly and, groggily, sat himself up on the bed. Sighing, his eyes remained glued to her own. She was beautiful, stunning. Her face was well rounded, her eyes big and her yellow cheek pouches subtle on her smooth white fur. Her black shaded ears flicked while her jet black hair was short in length, except for a pair of bangs that reached down to her midriff. Her long, large tail was curled at the end with three 'spikes' on top. She was nude as he was, the blackened stripe on her fur filled with odd, swirling patterns. Her body was well formed and like the rest of her, utterly gorgeous. To him, she was the most stunning Pachirisu who ever lived. He always felt lucky to call her his wife.

"So...was it GENTEK invading your dreams again, handsome?" She spoke up in a mid-toned female voice. He loved her tone. It always sounded reassuring when he felt upset about something. He nodded before he spoke up, somewhat sheepishly.

"Yeah...GENTEK and fucking Blackwatch. It's been like...two years since they last tried to capture me dead or alive yet...I can't stop thinking about them."

He sighed afterwards, upset with himself and his mind. His wife gently took his paw into her own and held it warmly while she piped up again.

"You really need to stop swearing in front of our little one, mister..."

Her voice was soft as she gently reminded him of their young daughter's nearby presence. Nudging his attention away from her, the male Pachirisu's eyes met his daughter's. She was tiny, perhaps just less than half his size. She had short and messy black hair atop her head. Her eyes were ice blue just like his own and her back stripe and ears were black just like her mother's. She wore a small plain black pyjama shirt and her cheeks below her eyes were stained with tears. He sighed and felt bad for making her cry. He adored his child and she adored and loved him after all.

"Come here, Alessa. Come give your daddy a hug..." He smiled calmly and spoke up gently. Alessa's face lit up suddenly, a beaming smile spread across it. Clumsily, she attempted to climb onto the bed with her feet kicking the air desperately behind her. Her parents chuckled and her father leaned forwards to pick her up. Wrapping his arms around her back, he brought her forth to him as he sat back. He then sat her on his lap while his wife sat close to him, rubbing his back soothingly with her paw. Being so close to him caused one of the bangs of her hair to slide against and rest upon his shoulder. He chuckled as it tickled him, before she rested her chin upon it. It drew their faces close, now side by side. They looked at one another and blushed.

To her, he was the walking definition of handsome. His big blue eyes stood out, as did the dark brown and short fuzzy Mohawk hairstyle atop his head. His ears were crimson in colour, as was the long stripe that led from the top of his head, down his back and along the entire length of his large tail. It was curled at the end and had three spikes atop it, standard for the squirrel like Pachirisu species. His crimson fur also had the odd swirly pattern style markings upon its entirety, while his body was fit and muscular. His backside was particularly revered, as round and smooth as its appearance suggested. That sentiment was especially true of his wife as he felt her paw slapping it teasingly. He chuckled, as did she and both of them blushed. Alessa looked at them both puzzled, but sat silently on her father's lap. He kissed his wife tenderly for a few seconds with his paw upon her cheek. When they drew back, they both looked at their daughter with the warmest of expressions. She responded with a beaming smile and poked her father's stomach.

"Papa..." She uttered lovingly, making the male smile in his most gentle manner of all. His daughter simply uttering that made him feel warm inside. It made him a proud father. He let her bury her face into his stomach, where she cheekily began blowing muffled raspberries against it. The sensation caused him to chuckle again, making his wife smile too. As Alessa continued, the couple pressed lips and kissed tenderly once again. Their eyes were closed, immersing themselves, although the female spoke under her breath.

"Your morning breath is the worst..."

They both laughed briefly while their kissing continued.

"I can taste yours now..." He replied and mockingly shuddered. She slapped his back teasingly, making it sting for just a moment. He shrugged it off and continued kissing her more intimately. Alessa sat back and watched them with a puzzled expression. They broke it off and looked towards their confused daughter.

"We love each other very much, Alessa. That should make your cheeky little face happy." The male smiled at her, making Alessa release a beaming smile across her face. It was adorable. Both parents chuckled and tickled her cheeks, making her giggle. She fell back upon the bed and her father began tickling her chest and stomach. Laughing childishly and wildly, she writhed around in a ticklish manner as her mother watched on and chuckled at the sight.

"I think it's time we got up, Patrick." His wife said all of a sudden, kissing his cheek once more as he nodded.

"OK, Kouki. I need the bathroom anyway."

She nodded after he had spoken up and watched him pat Alessa's backside twice, as if to tell her to shift elsewhere. She giggled again as she stood up on the bed, watching her father lovingly as he trudged into the bathroom. Once he had closed and locked the door, his wife kissed Alessa's head and told her to wait downstairs.

"We'll be down in a few minutes, my little one."

Alessa nodded and slumped off the bed and out of sight. The wife, known as Kouki Oyadama-Mercer, then sighed calmly as she looked around the bedroom. Pressing some of her cover sheets against her frontal body, she spied the digital alarm clock on one of the plush wooden bedside desks. It said 10:16am in a red LED display. She nodded silently, noting the bedside desks on either side of the bed, near the pillows. Each had two drawers and each had a small lamp sitting atop of them. Up above on the ceiling were four rows of small, circular lights that at night illuminated the room well. There was a patterned kaleidoscope style rug at the foot of the bed atop polished laminated wooden flooring. In one corner of the room was a large and spiky cactus in a large red pot. In another corner was a steel bookcase three shelves high and filled with books and CDs. The walls and ceiling were coated in an understated but polished white paint, with one wall perched upon by a large flatscreen 3D television. This sat above a large desk full of drawers. The desk was plush and wooden and on top of it sat a PlayStation 4, an Xbox One and a Wii U console as well as their assorted controllers. The former two were plugged into the TV. That all stood beside the bedroom door with the other side more or less bare to give space to walk.

The bed itself was king sized in human terms, comically so as a result of the Pachirisu species' small size. It had the most comfortable mattress, deep white pillows and the softest white duvet and bed sheet. It was obvious that family life was comfortable and well furnished, like a labour of love in itself.

Kouki unravelled the cover away from her body and bangs and then slumped off of the bed. Still nude, she pulled down a black nightgown tailored for her size from a peg on the wall. She then wrapped and tightened it upon herself, until it warmly hugged her body.

She looked beyond the bedroom door at the bathroom door across. There, she rolled her eyes and tutted as farting sounds emanated from within.

"Did you have to take a dump before I've used the bathroom, sweetcheeks?" She asked in a raised voice with it being obvious that her husband was on the toilet.

"Is it not fucking feasible to drop my load in the morning, my dear? I want to feel as free and fresh as can be!" He called back, accompanied with a chuckle. She cringed though as she heard successive plopping sounds, rolling her eyes again.

"Alright, potty mouth...I'll be on the bedroom balcony." She replied, her voice rising again. She heard his chuckle and made a beeline for a glass framed sliding door. To the left of the bed, she pushed a button and caused the door to slowly slide open. Beyond that was a small balcony and the view it gave was stunning. As she stepped on, the beach stretching out into the distance made itself known. The golden sands were gently caressed by the ocean blue of the sea. The tide was out at that point, revealing as much of the sand as possible. It was beautiful, with parasols and beach towels in abundance. Relaxed adults and hyperactive children were there too, building sandcastles, reading books and enjoying the warmth of the sea and the sun in the cloudless sky.

There was also a busy promenade, housing arcades, cafes and restaurants, as well as gift shops. It looked the typical seaside resort, flanked with the smiling faces of happy tourists. The atmosphere outside was nice, relaxing and made her smile. It was a nice place and it was the weekend. She hoped her husband had something in mind for them to do.

A flushing sound then occurred from behind the bathroom door. Patrick Mercer slumped off of the toilet and hopped onto the sink. He looked into the mirror, smiling at his reflection. He admired his handsome body, swishing his tail around as his reflection did the same. That made him chuckle childishly. He flexed his muscles and made kissy faces, before finally deciding to get on with his wash.

He crouched down and scooped up his toothbrush and toothpaste. He stood up again and looked at the mirror. His eyes widened somewhat in shock, causing him to drop his teeth cleaning equipment as, staring right back at him, was a Blackwatch soldier. Clad in full black military uniform, armour and hood, his black mask's creepy glowing blue goggles glared right into his eyes.

He then raised his assault rifle and scope, seemingly squeezing the trigger to fire. A smashing sound resonated and the male Pachirisu cried out. He stumbled and fell from the sink, falling upon the tiled white floor on his side. He grunted as the impact was absorbed and winded him.

"F-fuck..." He muttered under his breath, swinging himself around groggily to sit up. His eyes darted from one area to another in a sweaty panic and pulsed with hasty breathing. His concerns would be nothing but a false alarm though, as nobody was present in the bathroom with him. He allowed himself a moment to relax his breathing, doing so with a hefty sigh. With that achieved, he slowly stood up again. Looking to his left, he spotted his toothbrush and toothpaste. Making a mental note to pick them up, he then glanced towards the shiny white toilet. As he did, he lifted up his leg and released a large amount of wind. Personally satisfied by the noise it made, he chuckled quietly and wafted his paw around to spread the smell.

"Ahh...the very essence of a proud and loving husband and father..." He remarked rather smugly, a dark smirk crossing his face. He knew if his wife made use of the bathroom anytime soon, it would not be a pleasant experience. Definitely something he knew she would stitch his gender to, stereotyping him in the process. He did not mind though, it was all in the name of laughing with one another.

Nonetheless, he finally picked up his white shirt and wrapped it around his form. He buttoned up the front quickly and corrected its collar, before picking up his cream jumper. Placing that around him, he quickly zipped it up and then eyed one more item of clothing. Almost as if he partook in some sort of ritual, he scooped it up and looked at it softly, proudly. The item in question was his black leather coat with its soft red interior. Pockets aligned both sides of its front and two white hoop designs coiled around each sleeve. It also had a hood, to which Patrick made a habit of brushing his paw across. Finally, he coolly slid it upon his body and straightened it out. Raising his paws, he then placed the hood over his head and pulled his ears out of two slits designed to house them. Happy with the state of his clothing upon his body, he finally picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste from the floor.

He hopped onto the side of the sink again, laying some toothpaste on the brush. Just as he turned on the tap and raised the brush to his teeth, a knock or three rumbled the bathroom door.

"How long does Patrick Mercer want the bathroom for?" Came a female complaint shortly afterwards. He chuckled as he brushed his teeth clean; ensuring they were white and his breath was fresh. Then, he spat out the toothpaste in the sink and made his spoken response.

"Oh don't worry, Kouki Oyadama-Mercer, women take much longer than I do to get ready." He jokingly played upon a stereotype. His wife was heard chuckling as she threatened to open the door.

"My hunk is so full of himself..." She called out playfully as the door swung open at last. She saw his cheeky smirk as he looked her way. The lingering smell of his earlier wind shot up her nose and he watched her eyes widen closely.

"Jesus Christ, Patrick! What did you do? Relegate our home to a fucking sewer?" She exclaimed suddenly with her nose covered by her paw to block out the stench. The male Pachirisu merely chuckled as he put down his toothpaste and brush. Then, he finally made his response.

"Not quite, my dear...I just thought I'd give the bathroom a fresh new aroma..."

"But it's not fresh!" She barked back, her voice raised and her expression stern. He looked down momentarily as if to admit his shame. She stared at him as if to expect an apology. He then looked up again at her. Not with a look of shame however...but with a smirk.

"Well technically it is. I mean, it wasn't there before..." He chuckled, almost looking proud with himself. She glared, rolled her eyes and shook her head at him.

"There's no arguing with my arrogant husband is there..." She uttered more calmly as the smell finally drifted away. She then dropped her dressing gown to the floor and exposed her naked body in full. Patrick blushed and wandered over to her, his smile warm and loving. She smiled back at him, her eyes looking into his as if she was watching the most beautiful ocean in motion. Their paws pressed against one another's chests as they locked lips. They kissed tenderly as their eyes slowly closed to immerse themselves. It lasted a good few moments before they pulled back, staring into one another's eyes again.

"There is, my dear...but arrogance is something I've become good at." He smirked, finally responding to her earlier comment. He noted her looking worried all of a sudden, placing his paw upon her shoulder. She looked down momentarily, then back at him as she sighed and spoke.

"Why did I hear a scream and a thump from in here earlier?" Her tone of concern caused him to sigh and look down, his voice soft.

"I...I saw a fucking Blackwatch soldier in the mirror..."

Kouki's eyes widened a little before she frowned and looked towards the mirror. When she did, she saw nothing, but continued to show her concern for her beloved husband.

"That shouldn't be happening. It's like these dreams you've been having are spilling out into reality." She said quietly, her paw moving up to rub one of his yellow cheek sacs. He smiled slightly, glad of her warm presence and company.

"I...I don't know, sweetcheeks. I don't know what's going on. I mean, it's like my own mind is warning me or something." He muttered sheepishly and shrugged himself away from her touch. She frowned at him, but not out of annoyance. She watched him wander towards the door, hearing his sigh and seeing him pause. She hoped that he would turn and make eye contact with her again, but no such luck. Instead, she called after him as he wandered into their bedroom.

"We can go to that noodle bar on the seafront. It'll get you out of the house for a while and relax your mind."

Her voice reverberated right into his ears and he contemplated her suggestion in his mind. Then he nodded to himself and grabbed his brown leather belt from the end of the bed. He moved it around his waist, sealing it at the front and made sure the chain on it was easily visible. Then, he headed onto the balcony to admire the view. The palm trees swayed gently while aligning the seafront promenade. The gift shops and restaurants appeared heaving with tourists as the promenade itself was swamped with even more. It was busy for sure, though the weather was typically hot and clear.

In the distant scenery was a set of towering skyscrapers, the sunlight gleaming off of their glass fronted exteriors. One of them was clad with a large, imposing letter M on the outside of its upper floors. Another was a freestanding, white cylindrical tower with glass viewing areas near the top. A suspension bridge looked imposing and majestic beside them, its lengthy structure set beautifully against the horizon. It was a gorgeous coastal city, understandably popular with holidaymakers and civilians alike.

Patrick smiled as he viewed the scenery and noted all the happy people densely dotted around. Then he looked down towards the gates at the front garden. His eyes widened and he covered his mouth with his paw. Staring right back up at him was a fully clad Blackwatch soldier, the blue goggles piercing right through him. The soldier pointed down and to his right. There, on the pathway was a vivid red streak of blood. It led up a little ways, until stopping at what looked like a large lump of flesh. It turned out to be a human corpse, albeit with all of its skin stripped away to expose flesh, muscle and bone. Patrick's vision then flashed like a faulty camera and he heard voices murmuring in his head. He could not decipher them, but instead gained a sudden headache. He fell to his knees and clutched the sides of his head, grimacing with his eyes clenched shut. Teeth gritted, he could only hope that the grip of pain would fall away shortly.

When it did subside, he gasped suddenly in relief and opened his eyes. He looked through the gaps in the barrier around the balcony, towards the front garden gate. The Blackwatch soldier stood there was gone. He looked to the left to see a lack of blood...and no bloody corpse. He frowned and clutched his forehead briefly in thought and distress.

"I'm so fucking fed up of seeing these cunts..." He muttered, sighing deeply before he finally stood himself up. He took some drawn out breaths to relax his disturbed heartbeats. It did a little at least and so he casually began looking out towards the seafront again. That was when he felt his backside being playfully slapped. It was firm enough to sting, but he chuckled softly all the same. A female voice followed and let him feel reassured by its warmth.

"So are we going to grab some grub from the noodle bar, sugarbutt?" She asked as the male noticed her bangs sliding down his coat, with her lips pouting upon his neck. She blew a raspberry upon it, making him chuckle in a childish manner. She then kissed him there and hugged him from behind as he finally made his response.

"Yeah...it would be nice to get out of the house for a bit." His tone was soft and deep, warming her thoughts in return. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. He smiled too as they looked out to the beach. The waves of the sea caressed the golden sands continuously, delighting those being lapped by the warm, salty water. Everything was so calm and wonderful, the Pachirisu enjoying watching the world go by. Then, they heard a cheeky little female voice babbling some nonsense behind them.

"Pachipa!"

They smiled as they turned to face their daughter. Alessa beamed back at them with an adorable smile. She was wearing a perfect fitting pink cardigan with numerous pockets aligning its front. She stepped forward in front of her father and wanted to be picked up. He placed his arms around her back and scooped her up into them. He smiled at her and she kissed his nose numerous times, giggling as she did. Kouki smiled and watched, wearing her favourite red corset beneath a body-hugging black leather jacket. The corset had black S shaped patterns on either side, facing each other while she also had a chained brown leather belt around her waist, just as he had.

"Shall we get a bite to eat at the noodle bar then?" She asked as she picked up her house keys from the bedside desk. Patrick nodded as he kept Alessa aloft in his arms. His house keys sat in his coat pocket along with his phone. Kouki led the way out of the bedroom with her husband close behind. He glanced at her momentarily as they descended the stairs, with their destination set firmly upon a nice bite, a nice place...to eat...


	2. Superhero or Vigilante (Part 1)

**Superhero or Vigilante (Part 1)**

A costumed Emolga stood atop a rusting roof, looking down upon what could only be described as a slum. His blackened cape swayed in the gentle breeze behind him, its front below his chin adorned with a yellow oval containing a black bat like Emolga silhouette. A black mask covered his upper face, head and ears, looking distinctly bat like and designed to look intimidating. Spiked dark grey gloves took their place on his paws while a bulky yellow belt wrapped around his waist. Finally, the rest of his body was covered in a black suit, likely armoured to repel crunching blows.

He sighed, as he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He deployed himself in the area to check out a disturbance involving a large group of local thugs. He had not spotted them, just a bunch of homeless men and women milling around. The buildings in the district all looked condemned, with red brick exteriors covered in varying amounts of graffiti. It stained the bricks in white, red and various other colours too. Worse, sickly green fungus was seeping through the cracks between the bricks, growing horribly along the walls. Windows were smashed or boarded up, sometimes even a combination of both. The buildings were mostly three or four storeys tall, all attached to another side by side...like a community of decrepit friends. Some had boarded up shopfront or restaurant exteriors. It must have been a thriving community once...reduced to a slum and cesspool for the homeless and scum alike. It made the Emolga sigh deeply and roll his charcoal coloured eyes, then glanced towards the distant skyscrapers to the right. Mainly, he stared towards the building with a big letter M upon the top of its glass facade. It seemed to mean something to him, as his glance was long, as if he had some kind of longing to be there.

He then closed his eyes, turned his head and looked down towards the street again. He had a bag of steak and onion crisps in his gloved paws, grabbing a fistful of them and shoving them in his mouth. As he listened to the crunching while chewing, he watched the people down below going about their business. Still no criminals though, so he wondered just why he was there.

He shoved some more crisps in his mouth and chewed, then thought about who tipped him off and how reliable they really were. He felt less like a superhero there to save the day more with every passing minute. Instead, he felt more like an idiot that had misjudged Halloween a few months to early. Instead of kicking scum in the jaw, he was casually pigging out on crisps. Instead of saving the day, he felt like an upright slob. At the rate it was going, he would become morbidly obese and jack in his heroism days. Not the best thing to be running through ones mind, is it.

He then grabbed the last of his crisps and shoehorned them in his mouth. The crunchy chewing broke the silent monotony and disrupted his thoughts for a moment or two. That was a good thing. Once he gulped and swallowed them though, the quiescence continued. He tossed the pocket away behind him and it was caught by the breeze. It floated in the air, over the roof and towards the next street. A sudden and very unusual downward surge in the wind caused it to begin falling gracefully. With the street populated by homeless people shambling around like zombies, the packet found its way into a bin attached to a streetlight. There, it settled and the breeze returned to its usual habits thereafter. The Emolga frowned as if he knew what had happened to it, but noticed a homeless man and child below him speaking to one another.

"Yeah he took my home and money. Basically my fucking life...!"

"Sorry to hear that, dude. My mom threw me out because I'm too lazy."

"They shouldn't throw out a little kid. Fuck, man how old are you?"

"I'm thirteen, man. You got a smoke?"

"Yeah I got two left. My ex was raped six months ago by a sick minded cunt and she bled to fucking death..."

"Why didn't you get your life back after that?"

My fucking son took it all as I said. Took it to court and cleaned me the fuck out..."

"It seems like your family are a shit-tastic bunch of motherfuckers. I'm sorry, man? Can I have one of your smokes?"

"Well what can you do? These days evil wins fucking everything, little man."

The Emolga sighed, almost feeling a shred of sympathy for their plights, but shrugged it off as he had a job to do.

He crouched down and took a few Pokédollars out of his suit pocket. Placing two of his fingers in his mouth, he unleashed a loud whistle which accelerated down to the street below. The two he had heard conversing looked up as Pokédollar notes dropped towards them. Their eyes lit up as they flapped their hands to catch them. Some fell into them, others scattered on the floor only to be scooped up quickly anyway. Then they looked up at the rooftop, only to notice nobody at its edge. Nonetheless, they expressed their gratitude without a second thought.

"Thank you, whoever you are. May you be blessed with good fortune..."

"I could never express enough gratitude. All I can say is thank you so much."

"You're welcome...but evil does not always prevail. I will always prove that notion wrong..."

His voice was deep and hoarse in tone as he spoke up in response. He stood forth again to survey the surroundings down below. Still there was no sign of the criminals he had been dispatched for, making him wonder why he was there in the first place. He wondered how a large group of thugs could take so long smashing up a joint or something. Maybe they had concealed themselves among the homeless ranks littering the streets. Whatever the case was, he was feeling impatient and so decided to call up his assistant on his intercom.

"Alfredo, are you sure there are any thugs around? I don't see any...are you not pulling my leg?"

His voice was tinted slightly with a Spanish flavoured accent. The reply on the other end was swift.

"Patience, Murciélago. They will come and then you can claim your reward."

The voice had a distinctive British nod despite its owner's Spanish origin. His name? Alfredo Centavo Vale la Pena, an aging Gallade that regularly provided wisdom and resources to the Emolga. Nonetheless, the Emolga still came to question his advice this time.

"All I've done is give money to two homeless people and snack. Are you sure they didn't show up somewhere else?"

Alfredo could clearly note the concern seeping through the tone of his voice. He knew the Emolga hated getting things wrong. He sighed and gave him his response.

"It is always a possibility, sir. However the word was that they would show up where you are now..."

The connection then ceased to establish and left the Emolga to figure it out for himself.

"Fuck..." He cursed quietly and stowed the intercom back onto his suit. He is known as the vigilante Murciélago, a masked crime fighter. Called by many as a superhero, he takes down criminals using his intellect and combat prowess. An expert in hand to hand (well, paw to paw...maybe paw to hand) combat, as well as with melee weapons, he is often feared by the city's criminals. Unfortunately, they did not stop the city's criminal ranks from committing crime after crime. They figured he was just one and they were many...ripping off the 'we are legion' phrase in the process. Even fear could not override masses. Nevertheless, Murciélago was practically a one Emolga army, beating swathes of adversaries senseless. While his methods were brutal, they were very rarely life threatening. All the same, they are criminals and to him they should have an ample dose of sense beaten into them, no matter how savagely. Savage was a word he liked very much, it almost made him think of sandwiches. Mmm...every time.

He then shook his head to sweep his thoughts away, instead focusing back on the task he was given. The targets were still not there though. How annoying it was too. He was getting fed up of the notion that he was merely there to save the day. Surely he was a much better personality than Batman. At least he secretly amused himself with some of his thoughts. At least that showed he had a sense of humour beyond his gruff and grouchy exterior. He shook his head again to push the thoughts back. He had a job to do. Were his targets there yet? He looked down and surveyed the area for what felt like the millionth time. He pouted. Nope...they were still not there.

So instead of waiting around and making himself thoroughly useless, he wanted to wander around a bit. Maybe he would find his targets that way instead. He spread his cape and arm flaps and wandered onto the end of the building. He then dropped or more...glided gracefully towards the ground. His feet skidded briefly before landing unhindered. The road around him was littered with garbage, with crushed beer cans and cigarette packets being particularly prevalent. No wonder the authorities hated setting foot in the district. It was like herding a bunch of still conscious zombies into an open playpen. However, Murciélago still had a job to do. He glanced at each of the homeless people drinking. He saw one fall over and hit his head on a stairway. He must have been drunk, for instead of expressing pain he fell asleep and started snoring. It made him chuckle inside while noting some of the homeless ranks staring needles at him.

Immediately, it stopped his amusement and put him on edge. He could feel their eyes resting upon him, testing the strength of his Emolga shoulders. Any one of them could be dangerous, perhaps even form a flash mob. Any could be armed with a weapon or firearm, he knew this all too well from experience. He continued to wander on though, rather than risk make himself an easy target. His costume was eyecatching enough. He could hear some grumbling to themselves, some smoking marijuana and others drinking bottled alcohol.

"We don't need you here, you fucking spic!" One heckled suddenly and unashamedly, causing Murciélago to flip him off. His gesture offended the man enough to lob his bottle of beer at him. It arrowed straight for him at speed. Ducking at the last second, the bottle hit the floor and smashed into numerous shards. A pool of beverage formed around the fragments, fizzing up as it did. The heckler did not stop there though and stood forward, watching Murciélago proceed forth again.

"You think I'm done with you, motherfucker? Come here and show me how fucking tough you are!"

The tough guy speech laid out by the drunken loudmouth caused the Emolga to sigh deeply and stop. He could hear his loud and hasty breaths betraying his cocky attitude. The Emolga knew he was a popular superhero like figure to the city people, but also knew that many hecklers lurked in the shadows. It was something he always took on the chin. After all for every praise there is always some criticism not far behind. So, like a man, Murciélago turned around to face his hater. Dressed in a grey beanie hat, a mud splattered brown trench coat and ripped jeans, he was clearly among the city's homeless population. His skin was gritty, his bloodshot eyes grizzled and his bushy beard matted. His stance looked ready for a violent fight and his eyes glared piercingly.

"Come on, Murciélago, have you lost your fucking tongue? You think you're fucking above me? Yeah well, fuck you! You're not the hero you think you are...you're just a little shit!"

The Emolga sighed again at the constant jibes. Noticing how much he actually wanted to fight, he made a simple flick of the wrist. A grappling hook shot forth from a contraption there and grabbed a hold of the man's trench coat. It yanked on the material to cause the heckler to stumble towards him. With that, the Emolga had dashed forward, leaping into the air. His feet and lower body thrust sidewards and drove a savage drop kick straight into his stomach. Immediately the heckler keeled over onto his knees with his hands clutching his winded stomach tightly. His cry of pain was obvious to anybody in the vicinity. His sound of agony was hoarse and bellowed, much like his tone of voice. Before he could speak up again, the Emolga latched onto him in a flash.

"Are you happy now, gringo? You forced my paw in this." His voice was deep and utterly serious, hoarse and grizzled. His firmly clenched gloved paw thrust forth and buried itself with force into the man's midriff. He felt it ripple disgustingly from the impact, knowing it would leave quite a bruise later on. Regardless. the collision of fist and midriff was enough to cause the heckler to gurgle on and cough up blood. It dripped and spilled from his mouth, with some dark red liquid splashing onto Murciélago's mask and outfit...the rest hitting the floor. Murciélago sighed, knowing that it stretched the limits of his modus operandi. He knew though that the man deserved his lesson and so withdrew his fist from him. The heckler fell forward as he sidestepped, watching him end up sprawled on his front.

"Is that...ugh...is that all you got...spic?" The man jeered again, albeit with the blood he was coughing up spreading in a puddle beneath his face. The Emolga noted him clutching his stomach in its throbbing pain. Clearly he was not going to get up again for a while yet. However, his mind played back the taunts and jibes repeatedly in his head. Unusually, the racist remarks had riled him up. His fron considerably deepened and he momentarily snapped.

He dashed forward the required few steps and made sure his foot crashed into the man's cheek with raw callousness. Again it rippled his skin like a stone dropped in water. His head squelched considerably and a disgusting wet snapping sound rang out. The onlookers gasped and cringed in shock, leaving one visibly gagging. He covered his mouth and dashed down an alleyway in a panic as his lunch was about to make an unwelcome return.

Nonetheless, Murciélago stood over the now unconscious heckler. His face looked deformed with its dislocated cheekbone, while the onlookers gazed in shock at the actions of the Emolga. All the same, his look of anger remained as he glared at many of them.

"Anyone else planning to fuck with me? No? That was too much for you, huh? Too fucking much?! Just remember I'm always watching every last fucking one of you!"

His voice was still hoarse and croaky. The onlookers held their arms and hands out before them to protest their innocence. Others scattered in flocks, rushing away from the scene. Murciélago's pulse rate and heartbeats began to slow at last. He had calmed at least in part. No doubt his violent discretion would be sensationalised by the media and tabloids the next day though. Oh the beauty of today's society and how one's every movement can be scrutinised or slandered. At least he had broad shoulders and usually a strong tolerance for criticism, including the way journalists blow everything out of proportion to shift more newspapers. It made him sigh, but knew it was the way of the media to pen over the top articles. Sometimes, they may as well have been discarded as mere fiction.

Nevertheless, Murciélago had a job to do...and that must have been the seventh or eighth time at least he suddenly remembered that already. He stepped forward again, leaving the unconscious heckler laying sprawled with a fractured cheekbone. Somebody else could deal with him if they cared enough. Ahead, the street was almost deserted except for the odd homeless person roaming around. The buildings all looked decayed and rustic, their red brick facades tainted all over with sickly green fungus. It was like nature was trying to wrap its talons around the area and reclaim it bit by bit for itself.

The buildings were likely condemned, unsafe to inhabit anybody. The homeless population would never be denied shelter though and so they would risk the structures potentially caving in on them. Down the end of the street was a large concrete factory. Its tall cylindrical funnels towered over it and its local area. At least they were not in operation, but were still a blight on the city's skyline. The Emolga remembered that the city used to rely on industry and had a horrible smog polluting the air. Luckily, the factories fell into disrepair and Ciudad Porcelana refocused its efforts on tourism. It was like the governors had left the industrial age standing as relics to remind themselves of past mistakes. Either that or to keep the pockets of homeless people away from the more tourist minded areas. Knowing the government, the latter was more likely. They may as well quarantined them like flesh eating zombies. Probably though it was sometimes difficult to spot the difference as some spent most of the day drunkenly shambling around.

Murciélago's eyes drew to the factory as he finally began wandering in its direction down the street. He passed by a dented metal trash can in the middle of the road. Flames emitted from it, its embers crackling gently inside. He knew that the homeless gathered around it on cold nights to keep their hands and themselves warm, though wondered why it was lit in hot, broad daylight. He had a mind to look in and see what materials were used, but realised he would have a faceful of fire to deal with. That would only be good for the most literal definition of rage.

His mood had calmed since, so he decided against it. He continued to look around, surveying the environment in full. Nearby, one of the buildings had a shopfront. The walls around it were charred black, as was the interior beyond the no longer existing glass. Clearly it had been burned out of recognition, likely the result of a past robbery and arson attack. Murciélago sighed. He hated not being feasibly able to deal with every criminal activity in the city. He saw crushed beer cans and empty glass bottles strewn along the pavements and road. Lampposts were slanted at an angle, the traffic lights at a nearby junction not functioning. It really was like the coming of the apocalypse, a year round flavour of the aptly named Diablo district. It was a far cry from the city's seafront in every way and was neglected of any mention by every tourist brochure. The city itself was not ashamed of its success and cruelty clearly, instead openly embracing its victories and failures of its society. That was also its problem, as it established higher crime rates compared with other cities in the region. That was where Murciélago came in, hoping to establish some sort of order.

He remembered past bouts with thugs as he wandered on. How he snapped bones in their arms, face and legs. How he cracked their ribs, dislocated their shoulders and fractured their fingers. How he had also made use of a pair of curved sickles to cut off the hands or feet of criminals. What he did to his heckler was nothing compared to any of that. He also remembered some thugs urinating in his direction and one even defecating in front of him. Luckily he was never touched by either, though it reminded him just how much the criminals detest his very existence. In a way, it amused him. After all, at least the majority of the public thought of him fondly for his help to cleanse Ciudad Porcelana of its scum. That and of course he had his own deep personal reasons. He was just about to delve into them when his intercom buzzed, surprised by its vibration. He took it into his paw and looked upon its screen, with Alfredo's name flashing up. He accepted communication and the Gallade's formal tone of voice piped up.

"I have received word that the gang have been located in the Sol district, sir..."

Murciélago listened intently as he walked, nodding and understanding.

"OK...gracias, Alfredo..." He replied, causing the Gallade to let loose a heavy sigh.

"Hmm well, don't thank me. Thank my source..."

With that, the contact clicked and cut off. At last, Murciélago had a factual sighting confirmed. Knowing that, he would waste no time, he knew he could not afford such a luxury. So, he took one last look at the archaic Diablo district. The fungus plagued buildings, the scribbled graffiti and the ugly factory funnels. The embers in trash cans, smashed or boarded up windows and damaged lampposts. It was little wonder the district had its moniker and known for being a hotbed in criminal activity. He knew that it was a safe bet that his targets would have shown up in Diablo. However they were smart enough to prove otherwise, leaving him with no choice but to rush. No more thinking, Murciélago, it was time for action.

He thrust his fist forth and his grapple hook extended. It clawed its way onto a rooftop, dislodging a chunk but held tight. As the chunk fell to the ground, he was propelled upwards. Time to head towards the Sol district to take out some scum...


End file.
